


Here’s Johnny! : A RDR2 “The Shining” AU

by Wagglin



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games), The Shining (1980)
Genre: Other, RDR2, Red Dead Redemption 2 The Shining AU, The Shining AU, The Shining References, Video Game: Red Dead Redemption (2010), Video Game: Red Dead Redemption 2 (2018), rdr
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-08
Updated: 2020-09-08
Packaged: 2021-03-06 15:02:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 4,622
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26360845
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wagglin/pseuds/Wagglin
Summary: It's 1980, The Marstons are on the look out for new beginnings as John finds himself out of a job once again. Scrounging for work to provide for his needy wife and illegitimate child he stumbles upon the Overlook Hotel, whilst metaphorically shoveling shit in Charles Smith’s apartment. The newspaper states they needed a new overseer for the winter, a lovely housing for free to take care of one of America's most well renowned ski resorts. Just John and the crumb snatchers. A steal if you ask Mr. Marston.(A RDR2 parody AU of Stephen King's "The Shining")
Relationships: Abigail Roberts Marston/John Marston
Comments: 2
Kudos: 3





	1. Chapter 1

Factory working was never my strong suit. 

I've never been a man of labor, legal labor. I've been trying to keep my will towards this job, working at the chicken coops distributing eggs to the local grocery stores down in the valley. Driving the truck every which way across the state of Colorado. Surely a drastic difference than being a drug hustling cowboy out west, this is just different. There isn't paranoia on this job, there isn't something to watch for that's of concern to me, really. It's fucking monotonous. It's a pay that's no where near cocaine. The hours are the same though. Sleepless nights running on adoral and caffeinated sodas, Red Bull up my ass like Jack in a junkie's arm. If so I'd be dead from hepatitis, pissing in jugs, talkin' with my boy over the radio from across state. He fiddles with it anytime he wants to give me a synopses of some novel he wants to write, he's smarter than I'll ever be. Thank Abigail for that, woman has the courage of an ox raising that boy with me. 

It's a late night, a 4:30 shipment across state. Been driving for 8 hours straight sipping at a creamed coffee flavored vanilla, had a hankering for something sweet that sunday. Vanilla and nicotine was a wonderful mixture while running on 2 hours of sleep. Gives me butterflies in my stomach, sucking in that cigarette with artificially sweet tang lathered on my tongue, my unwashed mouth loving the flavors of the soft drag blowing through my nose. Being sleep deprived and wired becomes euphoric when edging towards the finale of a working night. Radio switched to some fun ol' Leonard Cohen... bobbin side to side, tapping flakey fingers upon the wheel. I gripped tight that night, felt nice. 

"Repent, Repent, Repent."

Pulling into the gas station, having to release myself, I wasn't up for pissing in a cup again. The mood was to high to be ruined by that internal embarrassment of side eyeing the driver next to you. The gas station was pretty well lit, the horizon of the snowy Colorado sky brightening ever so slightly as the sun rose. Not many were there, just local truck drivers and some kids from the town next I assumed, this was a median between two suburbs. Peculiar they were even there anyway. Four little white boys sneaking their dad's cigarettes out on the hunt for young trouble. Boys are adrenaline junkies. 

I took my piss and walked out to the main store, that taste still lathered on my tongue. I needed a water or somethin', maybe even another coffee would be nice. Yeah, a coffee. Made my way to the coffee machine that sit next to the counter, the kids had been hustled into that far corner snickering about something that was no business of mine. I tuned in to their little chattering, the boy with a lisp lighting a cigarette amongst his pals. All four of them puffing, coughing hysterically as thirteen year olds do. No one in this gas station seemed to give a shit, my coffee was done anyway. I stirred the cream and all 6 sugar packets into the coffee, keeping an ear on the kids yet watching the flakes of sugar melt into the cheap syrupy vanilla cream.

They became quickly boring, I had to get going I was due in an hour. I'm only twenty minutes away fortunately and I made my way to the counter. 

"3 dollars"

I'm sorry what.

"For a coffee sir?? "

"N-no sir you see... dollar for the coffee, dollar for the cream, dollar for the sugar."

Fucker

"I'm sorry, you're meaning to tell me this is fucking three dollars-... let me stop"

"There's no need to use that language with me-"

The store clerk seemed to shrivel in his shell a bit, murmuring his words. Not blinking once.

"There's no need to charge a man 3 god damn dollars for a coffee and cream. That's criminal."

Am I being tight? Am I aging? Is this the behavior of a man spiraling into his midlife crisis or am I just am asshole?... am I mistaken for thinking this is absurd?

"I'm not paying three dollars for milk and beans."

"Milk and beans are an expensive stock Mr...."

"Milton... and me, Mr. Milton, will NOT be paying 3 dollars for Milk and Beans as I said. So unless you milked that cow yourself and picked those fucking beans tell me. Then my sir, I will KINDLY pay you three of my hard earned Washingtons." 

"Three dollars I won't ask again. You pay or leave..."

This guy. He was no taller than 5'8 with a stupid loom in his eye. Smelled of farm and dressed of farm. From what I said and how he looks fucker might have just milked that cream himself, whipped it? I don't know it came from the cow somehow... guy shook like a leaf and spoke only in statements. I'm not intimidating am I? I'm just angry. A man has a right to be angry don't he? 

"What's your name since I've given you mine?..."

I'm wasting time, but I need answers for such an absurd price. 

"Kieran Duffy."

"Kieran Duffy! Ok so let's say you're... I don't know..."

I had to breathe, let's approach this reasonably. I went monotoned.

"Mr. Duffy... lets say you've been driving for 8 good hours of the night. You're running on a couple adoral pills and nicotine but my god you need another coffee. You don't want that coffee black now do you? You wanna enjoy your last hour of your day. Ending it off with a bang-"

"Three dollars or leave-"

"As I was saying you wanna end your day off with a bang, would you pay three dollars for your last hoorah?"

"Please leave sir, I have other customers-"

He shakily pointed his finger to the three boys behind me, stinking of cigarettes they were with red cheeks from the stress of the pitiful drags they took in the back.

"Ok..."

Whatever, I dug in my wallet for whatever cash I had and slammed it on the counter-

Wait.... the kids are gone?.... and my money is gone?.....

The bell of the store's door jangled following the scattered steps of the boys running towards their hot wired car outside. Those fuckers. 

I ran out ignoring the disarrayed squealing of Mr. Duffy stumbling out the door. I saw nothing but red, the coffee in my hand spilling over sizzling at my skin. I felt none of it. All I wanted was for that lyspy fucker and his pals to eat pavement. Catching up with them was easy, hearing my withered boots hard echoing. It was silence in my mind. 

The kid was in my hands. Making sure the hot coffee went into his eyes, my fist pummeling his face. I don't know if it was the pills or the caffeine in my empty stomach but I wanted him dead. I forgot my money. I forgot where I was. His face was ruined... his face was picassoed, my knuckles were torn. Once four came to one kid and he layed unconscious in my arms.... did I lapse?... 

Mr. Duffy had me in his car.... He was saying something through his teeth. His nose was a bright pink that was amusingly vivid. His arms going every which way. I faded.

I got a call the next morning in my cell. Abigail wouldn't pick me up. Though the man through the phone came. An old friend from San Fransisco bailed me out, there was no way to pay off the lawsuit he told me. Charles always knew what to say. 

I was fired. It was over. The egg business was done and my truck was taken in. The apartment was empty for a month. I sat and ordered pizza. T.V was broken. There was silence in my mind once more. I wasn't a working man. 

I was a self medicated ogre with a hankering for sweets.


	2. Waiting for the Miracle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Let’s find a job Mr. Marston...

Reliant on things that he shouldn't be and misguided in so many ways. 

Once out of the job and paying off whatever damages he had to, he was dirt poor and living with an old friend. Charles.

Charles sat on the couch with John. August 9, 1980. Watching what was on at the time, a couple music videos was what was desired by John. He didn't wanna think and just wanted to eat, men seem to just think that happens. Not thinking. The Twilight Zone was quit the pick that night, that one movie where the plane is haunted.... You know that one? 

Charles took it upon himself to order two boxes, with his money of course. What's John gonna do pull out a three dollar bill? He's above that of course. 

"So... what's next for you man?"

Charles knew this was an empty question. John's Man spread and shirtless attire practically answered it. John snickered at the question. 

"Where on me do you see an answer for that question Charles?"

"No where that's why I'm asking."

John took a large chunk from the pineapple pizza, almost barely getting it down the pipes. Coughing up crumbs. His eyes watered from the stress of the bite. Charles patted his back. That's all he needs, John dead on the floor from choking on pizza. 

"Maybe tomorrow- cough -I'll have the answer....When I'm not already b-buzzed right?"

"I kind of thought you'd start now. Or have already started thinking on what's next."

John sat up, Charles staring him straight between the eyes. John's stature was miles smaller than his. He looked pathetic next to someone so broad. He didn't know what he was, Charles atleast looks like he understands the man he is.

"I don't know Charles..."

"I think you should know by now"

"It's been a week-"

"Have you called Abigail?"

"No-"

"Have you called your son?"

"No but-"

"What are you going to do next John?"

John got up reluctantly from the tampered couch, letting out an annoyed groan. Flailing his arms up in aggravation as Charles stood with him. John will not talk above him. You don't talk to a man you care about from a bad angle. 

John stormed out of the living space into the corner kitchen. It was fairly neat for the state he was in though Charles has been sleeping there every night. Oh,... it's Charles' kitchen. Of course he's been sleeping there every night. John seems to forget this isn't his place, Abigail kicked him out of there two weeks ago! He wiped at his face with groggy intent scanning the counters for the morning news paper. He saw some job offers up the valley earlier that afternoon. He remembers.

"Overseer for the winter!!!"

John put on his readers and started to scan the ad page for it, leaning on the counter. Charles at the door way with his half eaten pizza. 

"You really want me working at a place that was built on an Indian burial ground?"

"I want you to get paid with the easiest job I can think of John."

He huffed, finishing the pizza in his hand. He knew John didn't give a shit about that he just didn't want to go.

"Apply next week if you can... call Abigail tomorrow morning too, bet she'd love to hear you're gonna be a working man again."

"She told me to stick it where the sun don't shine."

John mumbled, taking the sharpie that sat in the drawer next to him and started circling for hire ads

"She don't want me around the boy..."

"Let her simmer then... seems there's always something with you and that woman. She scare you?"

"Of course not"

"Sure Marston."

He walked out, patting his hands carelessly on his shirt. The residue of pizza crumbs falling off his fingers. He head for bed as John continues to exhaust him with every excuse he can give him. John stayed. Calling the ski resort all night, on the phone, on hold. Tapping his finger to the simple little melodies from the phone as he contemplated.  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The Overlook...me, the wife, Jack.... all for a couple months by ourself, a beautiful ski resort, nice views.... I get paid to live there. Cocktails every Sunday afternoon. Easy living for a couple months, call it rehab if you will.

Charles is a man of loyalty, after fleeing California I gave him my lot in Colorado, a ranch I had purchased a couple years before the bust. He worked for me and Arthur as a distributor, one of the higher ups. Shit hit the fan and we were able to get him to safe land. Uncharted land. Maybe this is a way for paying me back or he's just a great guy. Can't place my finger on which it is these days.


	3. The Stranger Song

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for changing the POV of this story. The next two chapters have been written in third person as an experiment. After those two the entire story will continue in first through John. (This is a passion project and I’m just testing the waters for the style I want to continue writing in)

After a couple weeks, close to a month.  
John packed whatever he brought to Charles, and took a cab home. By this time Abigail was already awaiting his arrival as jack made the dinners for two. 

“Ah! Take a load off sir. I don’t need no tip today”

“Thanks mister. Kind of yah...” 

That’s strange. The cab man required no tip? 10 bucks, John being off to wherever and he needs no tip. 

“You got a name?”

“John”

“You just gonna spit John at me? I just met you sir I’m expectin’ something a bit more formal.”

John hung his neck, picking at his nail cuticles

“John Marston”

“Mr. Marston! Strong name. Knew a Scotsman by the name of Marston. Strong man.”

“T-thanks sir...”

John glanced up to the driver briefly, only catching a glimpse of his rosey ear tips, whispy side burns perking from his cheeks. He could’ve swore he knew this voice... that weirdly confident Yankee accent. A clean cut fox he was.

“Don’t mind me saying but you seem familiar.”

“How so?...”

The cab began to accelerate.

“... just got that voice. Like on the television ya know?”

The driver chorckled, his finger tips tapping lightly upon the wheel.

“Am I entertaining to you Mr. Marston?”

“Perhaps?... you’re intresting”

“Good... I shall keep it up...”

The ride seemed to shorten as the streets started to capture familiarity, and the dread was reaping over John. The buildings gained eyes, his knuckles starting to whiten. Weird temperatures were covering his body. 

Someone new sat next to him... shouldn’t say new. 

John stared this new passenger down, trying to conjure up in his head how and when this person got here. John could’ve swore it was just his ride...there was no stop. the cabbie hasn’t said a word for 10 entire minutes. No one has. 

The passenger looked over, giving John a gentle nod. He spoke. He spoke. He spoke but John couldn’t hear a word he was saying. 

“I-I’m sorry?...”

His lips moved, conversation like. The passenger’s firey hair became more prominent as his he emptied air. That’s where the familiarity came from he supposed... gentle ginger splitted strands. John squinted, reading his freckles lips.

“We’ve arrived Mr. Marston.”

John whipped his head from the passenger, and nodded. 

“O-ok... h-here’s a tip-“

“What did I say about those?... your money is no good to me.”

John quickly retreated, awkwardly waving off the passenger and his cabbie, clunking his head upon the door way. He forgot to even close the door at that, the cabbie sped off. 

Standing at that sidewalk for a moment, confused. Confusion quickly churning into some sick regret, looking behind him to see little jack sitting at the steps of their apartment complex. 

John turned around, sticking to the edge of the sidewalk. Jack gasped at the sight of him, dropping his sticks he’d been toying with moments before. 

“P-PAPA!!”

He dashed, slipping on his snow boots. John lunging for Jack. No loose teeth today. Last thing we need. 

“WOAH, bud! Hey now I ain’t been gone long no need to lose your head boy!”

John chuckled, taking jack in for a close hug. Jack had been sniffin’.

“I-it felt like ages papa...”

Jack murmured into John’s coat, wiping his runny kid nose up and down the leathery sleeve. Feeling a bit suspicious of this behavior from his boy John took a glimpse at Jack. Scanned his face for any blemishes, nonsense, jest. All he saw was a blubbery dramatic 7 year old with a vivid mind. His chapped lips quivering in the cold.

“Get inside, go tell your mama I’m home...”

Jack scurried, tripping on himself every other step. What was that? The kid never leaped at the chance to get to him in the way he did. John’s never been the kindest to the boy and the boy never the most enthused to see his pa. His face scrunched at the thought, that doubting. His eyes fixed at the apartment door, seeming familiar in the way it’s something he used to know. That feeling of passing by the home you once owned, or looking upon that one family hotel room that was... more than perfect? That hotel room you guys trashed for the weekend. That’s what it was. That estranged attachment to some place that wasn’t even home. 

He didn’t process Abigail opening the front door. Jack no where in site with her nor behind her. It was just Abigail, once again, estranged. John felt miles away. There was only six feet between them.

“What do I say?”

John didn’t hear, her hair had been dyed darker, he can’t see her greys anymore.

“John, what do I say to you?”

He shifted his focus, failing to keep any sort of eye contact. Or any evidence of superiority for that matter. 

“I’m home now Abigail you wanna go inside?-“

“I haven’t decided if I want you home yet. I don’t exactly know if you should eat at my table, eat my food, sleep with me.”

“Hun-“

“You smell where the fuck have you been?”

He thought he told her..

“Thought we went over this... Charles’ “

She nodded, making her way to John, her nose becoming only inches from his.

“Go inside and shower...”


	4. Take a Shower

I’m just a literal bafoon who fails to differentiate the words marvel and stun....

The face she gives me is unreadable as I gave my stupid snare. Sitting my ass down at that tiny dining table I itched at the cunts on the surface. “John Marston you dumb fuck” she’ll say. She’ll say it over and over again until I’m assured of my intelligence. “You AINT know what right from wrong is you brute” she goes. I’ve heard it so many times I could retell a novel of my stupidity. Of my utter relinquished brain cells that shloop from my nose like handle bar shot. The mucus in the back of my throat playing as a wonderful after taste of the deterioration of my lobe. The table split at my nail. Her rambling is monotonous bullshit that I’ve heard like clockwork. 

“You listenin?”

I wasn’t. The cunts were a hypnotic escape. 

“John Marston...”

“Abigail Roberts”

She looked me up and down, investigating every part of my stature. Looking for shlumps, glumps and lumps. The little patters of Jack’s feet in his room made my mind venture. Was he playin? Dancin? 

Abigail sat at that small table across from me, taking my hands from picking at the wood anymore.

“Stop that John.”

A pause, long pause as I felt her hands warm at my palm. They were dainty hands... they were so small. They were wonderfully clean and soft, I took her hand in mine. She hesitated... her boney fingers dancing in the sudden clutch.

“I just wanna say i-“

“Let go of me...”

I lay my hand on the surface, freeing hers to be receded back into her lap.

“I’m sorry.”

“For the- what time?....”

“Fifth?”

“Sixth John”

I sigh

“Wow.... that’s an even number”

“It’s an even number that’s left me working like a chicken with no god damn head, to feed our boy... take him to whatever school he’s attending this month.”

“I see”  
...

“Do you?”

“Well- well Abigail what else could I have done?”

“A lot?!.... a lot John. Not beat a teenager to unconsciousness.”

She began tapping her finger every other syllable, her chipped nails echoing through the kitchen. Tap tap tap...

“I was threatened” 

She tapped again, and once more 

“ you weren’t! You” tap..” FUCKING weren’t. I made sure to get the witness story, unfortunately that’s the one I have to believe these days. Mr. Duffy-“

“Mr. Duffy is a crook”

“Mr. DUFFY is an employee. He abides by whatever the fuck the store is charging the customers it’s not his damn job to bid coffee prices.” 

“It was three dollars Abigail” 

She hid her face, sucking up whatever tears were puddling upon her eyelids. Shaking her head, her feathered hair bouncing all over the place. Her hair smelled sweet, like some coconut brand. 

“What am I going to do with you...”

She was covered, but the cracks in her voice revealed some fear. Some threatened fear similar to a helpless baby bird broken from it’s nest.

“You cryin’?”

I just... I just wanted to know.

Abigail revealed her face, puffy and frankly sad. Her lips puttering with furrowed eyes. 

“I’m gettin’ there ass hole.”

I got up from the table and did was she told me To do outside, shower. 

“I’m washin’ up... ok?..”

I wavered at the kitchen doorway, waiting for something. As Abigail stared at the fridge door vacantly with her puffy eyes. 

“Yah.”

She sniffs.

“Love ya... and I’m sorry.”

I chirp.

“Yah, me too hun... “

She fluttered her eyes over to mine. 

“You’re mine.”

I gave her a nod... 

“Of course.”


	5. The Scandinavian Cleanse

That shower was many things.

The shower was a cleanse, it was a detox, it was a shower. John scrubbed harsh at his flakey skin causing little abrasions all over his shoulders, his pale skin pinkening as the soap bubbled upon it. He was a filthy man, not one to keep his Hygiene to the subpar. His greasy hair soaking in that fresh hot water. The shower that is rightfully his, one he’s comfortable being completely naked in. The door unlocked, curtain unveiled. Let it be just Mr. Marston and the marbled glass door. 

Every part of him was dirty, every scrub or rub was a release of some sickening tension. The rancid smells alleviating off to be replaced with a dainty tangerine, a pungent nostalgia of Abigail’s neck. The way her collarbones smelled when they first met. They smelt of tangerine. She was wonderfully sun kissed. He just wanted to eat her. Abigail was full of life, he held her in those abrasive arms and squeezed. She had smelled deliciously of citrus back in their young days. 

Made him wonder why she is buying the tangerine scents once more... her lavender bar was gone. The ring it left behind upon the soap holder beginning to brown.

John scrubbing at his hair started to ponder, disassociate if you will, staring deeply into his toes. As chipped as they were. He dwelled on the citrus soap. The nude nights with that aroma. To John, within his delusional assumptions, she’s surely trying to revert to some time in the past with each other. One more solo. A youthful time that lead her to believe there was still a passion. What? John the bastard. Thinking citrus can trigger an urge? The senses are strong. Like the urge to crush something you love like a ravished boa constrictor. Suckling that sweet tang on a hot summer’s eve.

It’s time to dry off, there was no use to dwelling on bar soap. He climbed out of the shower, clumsily reaching for the towel upon the toilet seat and began vigorously rubbing at his hair. His locks seemed to gasp for air for the first time in months, becoming fuzzy and full of some re-birthed length. 

Walking out to abigail’s bathroom, shuffling his toes into that dreary carpet. He shuffled through his clothes drawer he’d hadn’t seen in months, clutching into the towel around his bare waist he observed all the flannel. His old jean pants, his underwear, his tube socks. Everything from his trucker clothes to family man clothes that don’t seem to make any sense for him to sport. He’s been shirtless in slacks for a long while. These shirts do him jobs. 

He hesitantly picked his most vibrant flannel. Throwing it on, dropping the towel. He got dressed in what he had. That old remnant smell of the truck imbedded into his jeans. Rancidity hovering over his nose. He threw on bed shorts.

John plopped on that loud mattress, chuckling at unholy thoughts. He sat for a while and stared at his hands, then to the wall phone infront of him. Something about being home feels wrong, theres a feeling of false security in his gut. There’s an aspect to his mentality that’s gone array. Maybe he should cut down on the sugar.

He got up quickly reaching for that wall phone, dialing a familiar.

The dial tone sounds three times.

“Hello?...”

John’s voice was dry, low, and fairly whimsy.

“This is Bonnie Macfarlane speaking, on behalf of The Macfarlane ranch how may I help you hun?”

His heart began to race indefinitely, feeling the lump in his throat palpitate choking at his words. John’s body heat rose at the dainty mannerisms she portrayed. He just saw her fiddled fingers travel along a paper as she spoke, reading something of importance.

“W-why hello Ms. Macfarlane. This is-“

“You sound familiar sir....”

He paused, the phone dripping through his sweaty palms. Her voice changed drastically, lowering to a hush.

“I sound familiar?”

“You sound like a good ol’ friend of mine... are you that good ol’ friend?”

....

“This is John Marston... hopin’ we still friends”

Holding his breathe, he felt his arms stoop close to his sides. Retracting his pride.

Bonnie took a pause, he heard her short little breathes. Familiar little pants, making his eyes water. 

“... I’ve missed you, you silly man.”

Melancholic she spoke up, he heard the grin in her voice. He couldn’t help but start picking at his face, creasing a smile

“Uh- uh yeah.... me too... I just wanted to ask you a question... ya know like-...”

“Please do John.”

...

“I’ve been a bad man, you know that. I won’t say more. I still am... I’ve been tryin’ to be a good one-“

“Start by hanging up...”

“I’m sorry- pardon?-“

Bonnie yet again intercepts.

“ hang up John... we’ve kissed, you’ve taken me for a trip many of times in ways that are unruly. You’re a bad man, but you’re a damn good boy... so please... start by being someone that’s loyal. Boys aren’t loyal. They’re fugal fiends lookin’ for poontang, when they’ve got perfectly good poontang at home... a man knows when he’s got a golden gal.“ 

John froze, clutching at the phone cord disassociating through Abigail’s floral wallpaper.

“I am- i just needed to hear from an old friend.”

“... I’m glad I heard your voice today John, I do... but i am not what makes you a good man. What you learned from me does though... baby, go back to your family.”

...John broke from his stare to glances around him, keeping his welling tears still upon his bagged sags. 

“Yah... ok Macfarlane.”

“Ok John.”

“You’re a good woman”

“And you’re a good ol’ boy Mr Marston.”

There was a wait... a silence, she wouldn’t hang up. John took the rains and hung that phone back to the wall. 

He should sleep, job interview tomorrow.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading this little self indulgent AU I’ve been doing as a small passion project. This is my first AO3 so I’m pretty excited to be uploading on this site!!!


End file.
